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the blind and look out. They would see then night
flowing down in purple; his head crowned; his
sceptre jewelled; and how in his eyes a child
might look. And if they still faltered (Lily was
tired out with travelling and slept almost at once;
but Mr. Carmichael read a book by candlelight),
if they still said no, that it was vapour this
splendour of his, and the dew had more power
than he, and they preferred sleeping; gently then
without complaint, or argument, the voice would
sing its song. Gently the waves would break
(Lily heard them in her sleep); tenderly the light
fell (it seemed to come through her eyelids).
And it all looked, Mr. Carmichael thought,
shutting his book, falling asleep, much as it used
to look years ago.

Indeed the voice might resume, as the curtains
of dark wrapped themselves over the house, over
Mrs. Beckwith, Mr. Carmichael, and Lily Briscoe,
so that they lay with several folds of blackness on
their eyes, why not accept this, be content with
this, acquiesce and resign?    The sigh of all the
seas breaking in measure round the isles soothed
them;  the night wrapped them;   nothing broke
their sleep, until, the birds  beginning and the
dawn weaving their thin voices in to its white-
ness, a cart ^grinding, a dog somewhere barking, ;
the sun lifted the curtains,  broke  the veil on

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